BATS IN THE BELFRY
I passed tranquil days during my German holiday at Kloster Eberbach, a monastery founded in the twelfth century that’s now a winery and hotel. It’s tucked in the hills above Eltville am Rheim, a charming medeival village along the river. The Kloster’s grounds are lush, planted with lawns, fruit trees, and flower beds. The Kloster’s buildings are in various states of repair. Those that house the hotel, restaurant, gift shop and winery were just recently renovated and offer every amenity. The church, the heart of the Kloster, has a fresh look. Its facade is finished in sparkling white stucco and bright red trim, and its steep roofs in slate tile. Its interior has been stripped of generations of paint and plaster, to unadorned stone block, giving a spare, romantic feeling. (Parts of The Name of the Rose were filmed here.)
The monastery buildings, a short walk from the church, on lower ground, are currently being restored, with an unusually gentle hand. They’re organized around a small, grassy courtyard with a fountain and a tower. The low stone walls along the walkways are cut through with tall grasses and flowers – with weeds – and are left untended. A dining hall that was converted to a winery five centuries ago has also been left as it is. Its monstrous wood presses, rusting railings, cobwebs, and damp give off a strong sense of decay. The exterior of the library, a narrow two-story structure that separates the cloister from the lay brothers’ dormitory, has been cleaned and repainted. But the giant timber beams that frame its second floor sag visibly, almost comically. The chapter house, a low, stone room with a single central column, is home to families of sparrows. A sign inside
explains that the birds are not to be disturbed. This lackadaisical (and un-German) style of historical restoration feels right. There’s sense, and grace, in allowing these old buildings to settle, naturally, and give themselves over to other uses.